TOTD 2022

8/1/2022

Another year, another week of hanging out with degenerate motorcyclists and Miata bros. I only had 4 days with the crew this year, but it was still great. Instead of daily blogs, I have random stories and pictures. You're welcome lol.

Tuesday I was following the crew out to Fontana Dam when I made a wrong turn. I decided to just go with it though, and did 200 miles out across the Skyway, where I visited Bald River Falls.  At this point I was hot and sore from riding, and decided to just chill out in the river for a bit. This turned into climbing the rocks at the side of the waterfall, which then turned into helping some rafters haul their raft up the waterfall. And then, well, this happened:

Wednesday I woke up very sore so I did a shorter day, hitting the Tail, the dam I missed yesterday (It has massive spillways that are very very tempting), and the parkway - which was repaved, empty, and glorious. When we got back to the house we discovered my front tire was dangerously worn. I'd been keeping tabs on it, but an afternoon of hucking it around the mountain pushed it to the end of it's life. But that can be tomorrow's problem, now it's time to eat, drink, and watch the thunderstorms roll in with the crew.

Thursday morning I called a local bike shop to see if they could sort out my tire. He said he had an opening if I left immediately, so I threw the bike in the van (no time to pull off the wheel), and left for his shop.  It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as the old-timer who ran the shop felt compelled to give the bike a complete once-over after replacing the tire. Tire pressures, suspension alignment, chain tension, lubrication points, and he advised me on where rust was starting and what may need attention in the future. I took copious notes and tipped generously, and after lunch (and waiting out a rainstorm), I set back out to run the tail.  It was so much better, I should have visited PJ as soon as I got to the Tail. The bike now dove into turns instead of being requiring me to force it into turns, and it was now relaxing and fun instead of a full-body workout.

But it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows: an old civic locked up their brakes, slid across the double-yellow, and hit one of our crew. They both bled off a lot of speed before impact, and his bike was in one piece, but unfortunately his wrist wasn't.  His wife took him to the hospital while some of the guys went back with a pickup to grab the bike. Meanwhile, the rest of us went for a swim in the lake, jumped off bridges, paddleboarded, and just generally chilled.

Friday, my last day, it was time to really get into the Tail. That was my plan at least. I had a great trip out across the Tail, went to see the bottom of the Dam, and then headed back to the Tail to take another run. But the road went from full sunshine, to some damp spots, to full downpour over the span of a mile. So I ducked into the gas station to hide from the rain. I met up with some of the crew and once the rain let up we went down to the resort at Tapoco for lunch, pausing to snap a few pics while the fog settled on the river.  It dried out while we ate lunch, and then it was back to ride the tail again! I made it several miles into the middle of tail this time before the road did it's dry-damp-downpour trick again, so there was no escape for me. I accepted being soaked to the bone and causally rode back towards home. 

Once I made it over the crest of the mountain and to the overlook, it had stopped raining.  So I pulled off to chill and chat with motorcyclists from all over the world. Baltimore, Quebec, Amsterdam, Mississippi, New York, Florida, and locals who live 5 miles down the road. After giving the road an hour to dry out, I went to take one last run. A few miles in the road was back to being damp and I felt my front tire slip just a bit... but I decided I didn't want to play those game again. So I headed back to the house for barbecue night, and spent a few hours trading stories with an emergency surgeon who climbs, motorcycles, and wrenches in his free time.

Saturday was just packing and the drive back. It was great to see everyone come together for our injured brethren, loading his vehicles, smoker, coolers, everything - onto his truck/trailer,  before he even finished his morning coffee.  Turns out there's a lot of expertise in rigging in a motorcycle club.  And then, just for good measure, it rained the whole way home. Thank God for audiobooks.

From the archives: Rappelling into Glory

4/8/2012

Warning: This post isn't as fun. Mom? You don't want to read this one. Another decade-old incident but this time recounted from memory, since my notes at the time were "My femur and my boot both really wanted to be in the same place at the same time, they had a 40' race to get there, and my boot won.  Other than that great weekend." 

I spent a long weekend with urbex buddies, climbers, rope-nerds, and all-around great people. We hit up a nuke plant, we slithered through paved-over waterways, we climbed a handful of factories... one of the best weekends of my life.  But Sunday was the crown jewel. We had a 300' rappel down into a dam spillway, and I'd spent months preparing, going so far as to purchase a 400' rope just for the occasion.

Setting up, all our nerves were setting in. Even though we know what we're doing, this is a slippery 300' hyperbola on wet ropes that would be happy to end any or all of us. So we confirm our knots and backup knots, anchors and backup anchors, I mentally rehearse the tricky bit step-by-step, and just like that it's go time. I'm confident, I've been training, so I take on the split-rope. Rappel 150 feet, then pass a knot and rappel the second half. I leave my straight-shot rope for those with less experience, figuring I can support anyone having issues from the other rope.

Once I get over the gradual lip and the floor is finally a vertical wall, I'm pretty happy. I've rappelled hundreds of times and the sketchy bit is over. Amazing and surreal views both up and down, watching teammates descend across the gorge, everyone was doing well and it was a great time.  Passing the knot was tense, but I'd practiced this, and I safely transferred my weight between ascenders, bights pre-tied for this purpose, and the rappel rack maintaining 100% locked-in

I continued down and finally touched down 300 feet later, excited to explore the internals of this dam, but I didn't want the fun of the rappel to be over yet.  The reports over the walkie-talkie were that the rest of the abseilers were going to take the straight rope, so I decided to ascend back up the two-piece rope to hang out with them, snap some pics, and enjoy the spillway.  I ditched most my gear to save weight on the climb and headed back up the rope with only some ascenders, webbing, and an ATC for the return trip.

I ascended 30-40 feet and it was indeed a super fun encore. Finally ready to explore the rest of the tunnel, I switched over to the ATC to head back down. I put the brake on, kicked my feet free of the rope-wrap I'd been resting on while switching over, and immediately knew something was wrong. My exact thoughts were:

LOCK! NOPE.
This is very bad.
How bad?
Not sure. We'll know soon

And I slammed into the concrete at the bottom. Right boot tucked under my left thigh. The ATC did not grab the wet rope at all. That's not a standard warning for the ATC, believe me I checked. I still don't understand why it let go, and to this day I will use a rack or a figure-eight (Rescue 8s are my favorite) every time. 

Anyways, there I am at the bottom of a 300 foot hole, wind knocked out of me, with my leg in the wrong direction, afraid I ruined everyone's trip by dislocating my hip. I know it should hurt but there's only minor pain, so I tried to move it gingerly back into place. There's the pain, bad enough it's impossible to gently push through. I know I only have one more shot at it before the pain ramps up further, so I kick that fucker back in front of me.

The pain instantly ramped all the way up. Nothing went into place. Just pain, an order of magnitude worse than I've ever felt, and I've done a lot of dumb shit.

At this point, my friends had ran over to me. I only had one (stupid) plan and it had failed, so I surrendered full control to the team, which fortunately included two EMTs.  They're super calm, so I'm super calm. It's not like I can do anything about it anyways. They cut my clothes away for a better look ("This is my favorite T-shirt, can you cut around the no-climbing logo?" "Of course!"). They know what happened, but they just tell me they can't pop it into place and I need to go to the hospital.   Unfortunately, we're deep within the earth and even if we had cell signal it'd take any rescue crew a day to get to us. No worries. They're cool and collected.  The trip organizer is freaking out slightly, but productively. He's deferring to the EMTs and assisting where he can.

They craft a surprisingly decent splint out of tripod legs and donated belts, locking my femur in place. Giving me my now-shredded shirt to bite down on, they load me into an inflatable raft that became my stretcher, and the full crew carried me down to the waterfront of what could have been my sepulcher. My raft was gently placed in a second raft, and two of them climbed into a third raft that had been tied to mine, and towed my bier out of the mountain to a service road.

Now that I'm stabilized, their priority is not getting arrested. I was fully on board, they saved my life, I'm doing ok but thought I ruined the trip (later they told me it was an amazing experience and we've all bonded over it), I figured it was the least I could do. Leaving me one raft to support my leg, they ferried the whole crew out of the dam and evaporated into the woods. With three of us left, we (they) called 911 to send an off-road ambulance to rescue a poor hiker who slipped on some rocks.  As we heard the ambulance approach, the organizer reclaimed my splint and melted into the terrain, leaving me with only my EMT friend who'd originally taken charge. Dear OrangeDrank: I still don't know your real name, but I love you.

The professionals walked up casually. "Well, I guess you're the man we're looking for!" 

"Yes. Can I have some drugs?"

"Of course!" And they shot me full of morphine. It was wonderful. I stopped shivering, I could relax, I was acutely aware of the pain, but I thought "Damn, that hurts way worse than I realized. Sucks for that dude!" 

...That dude being me. I actually made small talk with the medics as they drove me over trails that barely qualify as roads. They were in a good mood, since it was a rescue and not a recovery. I was in a good mood. I'd made it through the hard part. I survived. 

I'm sure the drugs helped.

At the hospital they informed me that my femur was completely snapped. They scheduled me for surgery to replace my bone-marrow with titanium in the morning, and strapped me into a tensioner to align all my broken bits overnight.  The crew showed up to wish me their best and drop off a couple books, but they had to head home to their respective states in the morning.  Xrays done, I finally called my parents. "I want you to know I'm ok. I'm in the hospital and I have surgery scheduled for tomorrow... because I broke my leg pretty bad."

It wasn't until several years later when I realized what a close call I'd had. A violent femur break can go two ways... inward or outward. Outward, it sucks. Inward, it slices the femoral, and you bleed out internally before you even realize what happened. And I tried to kick that bitch back into place. 

Amazing diptych by Avius, who automatically clicked the shutter when I screamed.
Like every good photog should.

From the archives: Climbing NYC

I wrote this account for an anonymous magazine article. Unfortunately my co-defendant panicked and forced us to cancel the article, but after a decade in my drafts folder I think it's finally time to post it, as written in 2013:

Life becomes what you make of it. The government - spooked by a prank back in college - denied my security clearance. This set me off on a course of events that ended with me sitting down for a discussion with Homeland Security. The lack of a security clearance meant I was suddenly free of the threat that had restrained my adventurous tendencies for the prior year, and I dove back into my passion with a vengeance.

Losing my fear of career fallout opened a world of possibilities. I immediately set about crossing off my personal "big 3" - The three things I wanted to climb before I died... or worse: turned into a responsible adult. [2023 Me: Lol]  I took care of #2 [cooling towers], and #3 will be easy enough to take care of  [Bethlehem Steel, still unclimbed], as they are both sweet climbable things in the middle of different nowheres. Number one was less easy... my ultimate dream was a piece of infrastructure in the heart of post 9-11 New York City.

A friend was selling a sweet wide-angle lens, and his personal grail was also in New York - which conveniently happens to be right between our homes! I'd buy the lens, we'd kill some time, and then cross off the top of our lists. Simple enough plan, but being realistic, we knew it might have some complications. So we prepared... I gathered some bail money: a few hundred cash, a blank check left with a friend. I prepped my camera, electrical tape pinning my flash down and hiding the front-facing led indicator. I psyched myself up. I picked out clothes in dark greys and blues.

The day started perfectly. We met, made the sale, and scouted his target quite thoroughly and without arousing suspicion. My partner-in-crime deferred on his climb, spooked by cameras and security guards. I offered to climb with him, but only after we did my climb... just in case.   When we went to scout my goal we found police cars.... ... ...closing down half the road for construction! This meant traffic was only flowing one direction, which halved the likelihood of being spotted by a driver. It was just past midnight and hours before anticipated, but there was a gap in pedestrian traffic too opportune to pass up, and we sprinted for it. Up the cables of the most iconic bridge on the east coast, if not the country.

The Brooklyn Bridge became our playground. We swung around opposite sides of the cable-guards, barely a hiccup in our manic ascent.  As we neared the top the cables steepened and we finally slowed our ascent. This is when the sheer stupidity, the sheer awesomeness, and the sheer drop off the side of the cable all became real, but we were committed to it, and to whatever consequences entailed.

The summit felt like a dream. The highpoint of my exploring career and one of my main goals in life achieved! During certain climbs the summit feels like the summit of the world, with the entire earth spread out at your feet. I highly recommend it. In hindsight, I recommend it elsewhere.  We shot a number of pictures, I hid my memory card in my sock, and took a few intentionally too-blurry pictures so that if we were searched they wouldn't look too hard for a memory card.  My secondary goal for the night was to get these pictures home. Not being arrested was at least third on my list.

We descended the same way we came up, waiting for a lull in pedestrians on the wooden walkway 100 feet below us, before silently creeping down the cable behind the last group.  Near the bottom we were back to sprinting, vaulting the final dozen feet to the deck before sauntering off of our neo-gothic jungle gym.  We were down, safe, and relieved. It was one of the coolest things I've ever done.

But it was still early in the evening and we were hyped up on endorphins. So we went for another bridge. We justified it to ourselves "The Williamsburg is easy!" - not knowing that a story on bridge climbers had been published earlier that week, about that very bridge.  We told ourselves it didn't matter if pedestrians saw us. We convinced ourselves that it was reasonable to take the built-in staircase, even if it was an obvious route crisscrossing over the roadway.

But we were young and immortal, making our lives interesting. We climbed with gusto, skipping across the plates crossing above the rail tracks and threading through girders thirty feet over traffic, then trudging up a dozen flights of stairs.  Yet another Olympian summit with the city beneath our feet. Despite the endorphins the exposed climb up left me feeling a little naked, so I immediately started snapping pictures, calculating response times in my head. The bridge itself was a beautiful counterpoint to the Brooklyn, steel latticework replacing solid stonework, identical functions and opposite form. I stepped over the railing, across open space, and onto a steel plate on the edge of the tower, a smooth expanse just under two feet wide, just over two feet long, fifty yards over pavement, and a perfect platform for a tripod. As I lined up a shot of north Manhattan a helicopter crossed into frame. I smiled, picturing the artifact it would produce swooping in front of the open shutter.



Then the helicopter turned. And began to circle.  I vaulted the railing and packed my bag in seconds, memory card joining it's brother in my sock. We frantically whispered (as if the helicopter could hear us) theories back and forth, and hid from the assumed thermal-imaging. I lowered myself beneath the plate I was previously shooting from, using the massive I-beams to keep out of sight, oblivious to the fatal fall beneath, solely focused on the "ghettobird" still circling above.  My partner paced the catwalks, keeping the columns of the bridge between him and the chopper.  We hoped that, seeing no-one, they'd assume it was a false alarm. They didn't. They assumed we had jumped, and began playing the searchlight over the surface of the water.  Then it got worse.

Before I go any further, I want to assure you that I am not exaggerating.  A police boat came up the river under us. It was joined by a dozen police cars, a police truck, another boat, and a few more police cars for good measure. Facing insurmountable odds, I give up. It's ridiculous to be risking my life to avoid the surely-inevitable arrest.  Announcing my intention, I swing back up to the catwalks and motion to the helicopter that I would climb down. Said helicopter is too busy searching the river to notice me. My future co-defendant discovers an open maintenance hatch on one of the corner pillars and climbs inside, beckoning me after him.  Having no better idea, I follow. I begin closing the grate behind me when visions of being trapped in the tower and dying of dehydration stall my hand. I leave it cracked.

We descended a quarter of the way to the road surface and then tucked in behind the ladder, blending in to the walls.  Having exhausted all other options, I prayed while we listened to the officers climb the tower, their metal carabiners clanking off every railing as they make their way up.  There was a moment where I thought we'd succeeded. We heard the officers joking, claiming that we disappeared... but then one asked the fateful words "Did you check the towers?" "Nah, they're all locked" "That one isn't." I should have let us starve to death.  An officer poked his head in, shone his flashlight down, and pulled back. I was finally exhaling when a new sun ignited at the top of the tube, followed by a pause, then "GET OUT HERE NOW, ASSHOLES. BOTH OF YOU."  Apparently someone had a better flashlight.

We emerge to a crowd of amused cops, with our spotter - still apoplectic- offering to escort us down nicely or throw us off the edge. We know he's not going to do that, he knows he's not going to do that, but we humor the officer and request the option involving stairs.  They only have one harness so I'm forced to walk down the stairs backwards as a sort of manwich between two officers, both of whom are torn between admiring the view and bemoaning our stupidity.

Back at street-level we were unceremoniously lifted over the railing - because obviously, a railing would be too difficult to climb. We were then put on our knees and cuffed to wait for yet more cruisers to arrive, driven up the sidewalk.  To our surprise, we were placed in the same car, unsupervised. I guess they figure they have us pretty dead-to-rights on this one. To be fair, they did. We briefly made sure our stories line up (this was the only thing we did tonight), and then cracked weak jokes to keep tensions low.

At the precinct we were searched, lost all our gear, money, belts, and shoe-laces, and were taken individually to be questioned by both the local police and Homeland Security. (Example questions: "Who asked you to take pictures of the bridge?" "Which organization are you affiliated with?"). After they decided that we were harmless idiots and not searching for structural weakpoints they sent us back to lockup where we waited for the police to argue about jurisdiction. Manhattan declared that since we were on the Brooklyn side of the bridge and over Brooklyn-bound lanes, we weren't their problem. Unfortunately, Brooklyn didn't decide we weren't their problem either, and instead set about seeing what charges they could come up with. Last we heard that night, they were considering Felony Assault on an Officer - because said officer suffered heat-stroke after 7 flights. Then they searched me again, found half a grand bail money in my shoes, and patted down both my legs. To this day [still] I am amazed they never felt the memory cards in my sock despite grabbing my ankles. Later, my new roommates advised me I should have "cheeked it."

In the morning we were driven to central processing, where we were fingerprinted (again), mugshot (again), and retinal-scanned for good measure. We spent the day bouncing between different holding cells, sleeping and talking to the various other arrestees, who referred to us as the "ganster-ass white n-----s." At the end of the day we went to bed on a cement floor, in a room where there were neither sufficient mats nor floorspace.

[I'm going to take this moment to retell my favorite story from processing. The novelty had worn off by now, boredom had set in, and it was just a matter of surviving until the next step. Lunch consisted of cheese sandwiches. Two slices of wonder bread, one slice of cheese, and mayo. I declined.  One of our cellmates was a hard beefcake of a tatted-up gangster with scars across his face, clearly used to this situation, and he was using his cheese sandwich as a pillow. I saw it, nearly laughed, and turned away to regain my composure. After convincing myself it wasn't funny I glanced his way again, and almost lost it again. After a few minutes of promising myself it was definitely not funny I finally looked his way a third time, coughed severely to suppress laughter and presumably violence, and looked the opposite way for an entire hour until our next shuffle.]

The next morning we spoke to our public defenders. We were facing charges of criminal trespass, criminal mischief, misdemeanor reckless endangerment, and  - the big one - felony reckless endangerment.  After more waiting we had a bail hearing where our lawyers said great things about how responsible we usually are and how we would definitely come back for our trial, the prosecutor asked for several thousand in bail, and the judge declined to give it to him! Thirty-three hours after we stepped into the cop car we were finally free to go.

We went back to the precinct building to pick up our car keys and licenses. Which we were told required photo ID.  Lacking said photo-ID (which they had confiscated), we could wait for the arresting officer, who wouldn't be in till midnight at the earliest. It was 11am. I was furious. Why did they fingerprint me, take multiple mug shots, and scan my retinas if they couldn't use those to figure out who I was? I felt inclined to do various things that, legally, I shouldn't mention here. Instead, I had my first meal in days. It was wonderful, and afterwards I felt much less arsony.  I spent the afternoon napping in a church until a friend got off work- which meant I could finally shower, look myself up on news websites, and sleep somewhere soft. Eventually, I traded my property receipts for my car keys and headed home.

Over the next seven months I took 4 more trips into the city for court dates. The first was the grand jury hearing, where my peers would decide whether to pursue the felony charges. At the last minute I was reassigned a different court room, and after hours of hearing other cases the judge called me forward. The prosecutor said the felony charges were "completely baseless," dropped them, and it was all over in less than a minute.  All of the court dates followed a similar pattern: hours of waiting followed by a brief "yes ma'am understood ma'am" as the judge and my assigned lawyer decided what to do with me. After additional trips to the city I eventually got my shoe-money and camera gear back, although (well over a year [decade] out now), there is still no record for the rest of the confiscated property.

Overall, I'd say it was worth it. I set out to make my life interesting, and even if it wasn't the intended method, it was a success. I had to do 70 hours of community service, in return for which they offered a suspended sentence on all the charges.  My public defender negotiated a change to "Violation Disorderly Conduct" with a punishment of Time Served.  So the only thing on my record is a non-criminal offense, and if I get arrested again the original charges won't come back to bite me.

Diamond Lil - B24 Liberator

In the before-times, we booked a flight on a B24 Liberator for Father's Day.  My dad is a history buff and has been reading stories from ww2 throughout my life, and here was an increasingly-rare chance to experience what those men (boys) experienced, to a degree. However, maintenance requirements cancelled the flight. So we booked on a B29 instead! And then covid cancelled that flight. Fast forward a few years, and flights have resumed, maintenance is completed, and my dad informs us he's buying tickets!

So Sunday morning we woke up early and headed out to Hagerstown to finally ride a piece of history. We arrived around 8:30 and checked in, only to be told that - due to the weather (chance of rain, low ceiling), the flight would definitely be delayed, and might be cancelled altogether. Saturday's flights had already been cancelled and pushed to Monday, but it looked like the weather would continue to clear up.

So we wandered around the museum. Hagerstown actually has a great aviation museum, featuring a plane from the 1919, military trainers, and various other exhibits  - all in a hanger built by Fairchild during ww2 (entirely out of wood, impressively) to house the pt-19 trainers and c-82 "Packet" cargo planes they were manufacturing to support the war effort.  They have a lot of weird aircraft, including a SM-73, which was an experimental cruise-missile decoy - part of a project that was ultimately cancelled but provided a fascinating distraction while we waited for the pilot to make the call.

Ultimately, things were looking good! We got the safety briefing, which alternated between comically mundane "You must follow all requests of flight attendants, no smoking onboard" and the bizarre "Don't step on the tunnel hatch. The latch isn't reliable and there's a small chance you could fall to your death."  Then they assigned us starting-seats based on the groups we arrived with and the weight of those groups. Ethan and I, being skinny, ended up in the Radio Operators seats. We didn't know it at the time, but these were the best seats in the house outside the cockpit. We then toured the outside of the plane and got some history lessons. 

Finally, after a few hours, we got the go signal! We made our way out the plane, loaded up, and strapped in. The engines coughed to life, one-by-one, and FiFi (the b29 next to us) loaded up and headed out to the runway. We followed and went down a parallel runway, and got to see FiFi take off as we rolled past.  At the end of the runway, we did a lot of tests. Engine spin-up tests, brake tests, aileron and flap tests - and the assistant flight engineer in the back of plane with us was on the radio relaying confirmations of each step up to the pilots. 

Then, it was time for takeoff. We roared down the runway, thankful for our earplugs and the breeze that immediately cooled off the cabin (especially up top in the radio seats), and lifted off at what felt like an absurdly steep angle. Looking out the rear tailgunner, all we could see was the runway.  The stepper crawled onto the staircase to make sure the landing gear retracted, and then set about moving the waist gun into position.  I could definitely see why the ww2 pilot said "it flew like a dumptruck with wings" - it wasn't the smooth flight you expect on an airliner, it was a jostly flight where the plane would suddenly move a foot in any direction, at any time - there was the threat that airsickness was a real possibility. None was present, but I was aware that if I tried to read a book (not that I would) it would be a terrible choice. 

And then, maybe 90 seconds after we left the ground, we got the hand signal for "unbuckle". I climbed down to the mid-seats as we began our rotations, and then moved to the waist gunner position next.  It took a lot of effort to point that beast as it stuck out into the 200mph air blasting past the craft, definitely a full-body movement method of aiming, where your legs and core do even more work than your arms.  I determined I could hit a large barn, but had no chance hitting a car besides pure luck. I also would have totally shot the wing or the tail - which is true to form, as plenty of b24s came back with self-inflicted wounds as the gunners tried to take out an attacking fighter. Far more difficult of a role than I thought, and nobody was even shooting back.

Next up was the tail gunner. I climbed over the tunnel-window (Making sure not to step on the latch and take an unscheduled skydive), and kneeled in the tail. This was a great seat, with a panoramic view of the world passing by. And all wide open, if you squirmed past the gun you would easily fit out the window with no glass to stop you. 

After that I went down to the bomb-bay. Luckily, half the racks had been removed (well, all of the racks had been removed after a training accident and a life as a trainer / executive transport, but half the racks had been returned!) which meant there was a fair bit of room. However, there wasn't much to do in the bomb bay. The windows were small, the room cramped, and I was very grateful that we got bumped to the radio seats for takeoff. So I chilled out, inspected the bombs, dangled a hand out the window. After a few minutes I rotated up to the cockpit. Just an overwhelming number of dials and switches, and a comically modern GPS unit stuck to the windshield. They even had a roof hatch which they left open, the ultimate skylight. 

Back in the bomb-bay Ethan and I checked out the bombardier seat. To get there when in flight you have to squirm over the landing gear - without touching the cowling which was spring-loaded and would be happy to let your through. We agreed we would totally do it, but that was unfortunately (and understandably) not part of the tour. On his suggestion we headed back to the radio seats for a more comfortable view and a better ride. As the rotations wrapped up we took an extra rotation and looked down the tunnel gun. Basically just a window in the floor that would have a 50 sticking through it. I couldn't imagine trying to track an enemy plane while it dodged and we bounced, all while the ground flew by underneath. I guess it'd be easier at altitude, but still. 

Our seatmate was a ww2 veteran, and his brother-in-law was actually KIA in a b24 in the war. Amazingly, he was just as spry as the middle-aged men, but his presence underscored the fact that in the war, a bunch of 18 year olds were climbing around this plane with it's lack of handholds, lack of insulation, lack of any comforts - in frigid conditions, surrounded by flack explosions, while being shot at, for up to 14 hours at a time. I took my earplugs out and while not painfully loud, it was super obnoxious and still impossible to talk anyways.




We took some impressively hard banks, the engineer crawled down the stairs to make sure the wheels were out, and we landed pretty uneventfully.  As we taxi'd back to the hangar probably a hundred people took pictures of us, it was like being a stormtrooper turned up 500%.  Once parked, we waited for the props to spin down before opening the flimsy door (the one with a half-inch gap when closed properly) and made our way onto the ground, grinning ear to ear.

And if you'd like to see more, Ethan recorded our flight!

Tail of the Dragon

The guys in my local motorcycle club have held an annual trip down to the Tail of the Dragon - a famous driving road on the border between Tennessee and North Carolina in the Smokey Mountains - for the last 16 years. I've been riding with them for a few years, and they extended an invitation to me to come along about a month before the trip. I was undecided, busy, and suddenly the trip left the next weekend. I decided to go along, knowing almost nothing about the trip.  However, I have lately been attempting to "Seek Discomfort" for growth and a more fulfilling life, and living a week with a few guys I knew and a bunch of strangers is exactly that.

Sunday:
I loaded my bike, a friend's project bike, and several sets of motorcycle armor in my Sprinter and headed 10 hours south. Around the time I got off the (gorgeous) highways in North Carolina I found a truck with MD plates and motorcycles in it, and followed it through the backroads into a compound in the middle of nowhere. Pulling in at the bottom I was relieved to find that I did know the driver of the truck ahead of me! He showed me around the abandoned compound, and as we explored and unloaded the rest of the crew showed up. We unwound, had a few drinks, and I was informed any bed I could find was mine. So I wandered in, found a random bed, and crashed.

Monday:

On Monday the plan was to head out across the skyway for lunch, and then hang out in the river. My backroad motorcycling skills were a little rusty, but one of the guys offered to lead me in his rally car. I was hesitant because I knew I was slower than him and didn't want to ruin his fun, but he was gracious, and, you know, seek discomfort. We headed out, and a couple miles in he reached out his window and started giving me signals I recognized from trackdays. Surprise coaching session! We blasted through the back roads, him setting a pace he knew I could handle but outside of my comfort zone, and I mostly kept up. Occasionally he'd pull into a scenic overlook and offer some tips (Rotate the shoulders more, look further through the curve, etc). It was a great way to shake off the cobwebs and get back into the mindset, and I thanked him profusely for the help.

Lunch was fun, I stayed at the restaurant to use the wifi for a work meeting, and then headed out to join the others at "Dirt Beach" - named for a friend who threw his bike into the woods at this turn on a previous trip. We hung out, skipped rocks in the river, and had a nice relaxing time. Afterwards, I headed up the road to see the waterfall, and then met up with two of the guys to run the "360 Loop" - named for rt 360 - which would explore some more backroads and then join up to the Tail.

A nice fun backroad, a bit of highway, and then around 6pm we got to the Tail right as the clouds started rolling in.  I was apprehensive, having read about the road, the wrecks, and worrying about holding up the boys. But embrace discomfort, etc etc. Lets do this.  We did the first few miles up to the overlook, and it was hard work. Very twisty road, full of surprising turns, and had random damp spots just to ratchet up the difficulty even more. At the overlook we looked at the darkening sky, I got a few tips on navigating the tail, and agreed to meet them at the bottom - so that they would have a chance to get off the mountain before the rain hit. I did the next 8 miles of tail as it got darker and wetter, and to be honest, enjoying very little of it. As I got to the bottom, it started pouring, and we road the rest of the way home in the wet, on thankfully-straighter roads.

Tuesday:

I had to work again in the morning, and then headed out to the tail to give it another shot. Now that it was sunny, dry, I knew what I getting into, and had developed a few tricks (lower gears are your friend) it was much better. I traded lead back and forth with the fastest Harley I saw the whole trip, noting his line and entry speeds, and we rode together up to the overlook, where I caught my breath and uncramped my arms, before heading back down the mountain. Going even faster this time, I finally saw the appeal of this mountain. It was so much fun! And almost everyone has excellent lane discipline and most drivers and riders will pull over so that faster traffic can fly by.  I had a late lunch with some of the motobros at the restaurant at the bottom, and then we headed back up the mountain. Ted had his wife riding pillion, so they put me in the lead. It turns out that when I go as fast as I comfortably can - that's about exactly how fast Ted's wife lets him go when she has dramamine. Those trackday junkies can boogie. Luckily I've long since accepted I'd be the slowest guy on the trip so instead of any embarrassment it was just a fun ride with friends.

Ben's shot of the nightly debauchery

I was feeling worn out, thighs and shoulders sore, with one pinky going numb from pushing the bars too hard in thin gloves, so I headed back to the cabin for dinner. Still sent it, of course. Every night we had volunteers who cooked for the group, and in return we all paid for the groceries. It was great. Burgers, barbecue, korean barbecue, so much great food.  After dinner we all hung out in the garage, had some beers, and I witnessed the best conversation of the week when one of the guys got back in from a side-trip to buy a trailer.

Dave: "There are so many pigs on the skyway tonight. Be careful up there"

Ben: "Did you get pulled over?"
Dave: "No, there were a dozen pigs on the road"

Ben: "Was there an accident? Why that many cops?"
Dave: "Not cops, pigs"
Ben: "Yeah man, Fxxx the police"

Other drunks: "FXXX THE POLICE!"
Dave: "PIGS! Oink oink! PIGS!"

Other drunks: "PIGS!"

Ben: "FXXX THE POLICE!"
Dave: "HOGS!" <-it was at this point I figured out what was happening
Ben: "Motocops?"  
Dave: "FARM ANIMALS. CURLY TAILS. WILD PIGS"

Everyone: "Ohhhhhhhh"

Ben: "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Pigs."

Wednesday: 
Now that I had enjoyed the dragon, I had one other task for the week: trick the photographers on the mountain into taking my picture for me, and posting it onto the internet for free. There are two ways to do this: 1) crash in front of them. 2) Stormtrooper.  So I armored up, and hit the tail fully stormtroopered out. It was fun, and a good excuse to dial it back a few percent and enjoy the ride rather than being in full attack mode, and everyone loved it.  Took several selfies with Harley riders (mostly for their grandchildren), and then dropped my bike. Right at the top, right in front of everyone. At 0pmh, failing to walk out of a parking spot. Luckily it didn't hurt anything but my pride, and I mostly see the funny side of it.

I headed back to the house, changed into cooler gear (I was sweating buckets as a stormtrooper), and went out to hit the tail on my way to Foothills Parkway for a solo ride. Foothills parkway is gorgeous. Amazing views, amazing pavement, impressive bridges on the side of the mountain, beautiful sweeping curves, and everyone is happy to let you pass and will usually signal you to do so as soon as it's safe. I came around one corner onto a straightaway and saw a sculpture of a bear. Who would put a bear sculpture in the weeds on the side of the road in the middle of a park? And are those mini sculptures behind it? Oh. Those are real black bears! A momma and two cubs, just chilling 20' off the road at the edge of the forest. Anyways, this is my favorite road in the area, and if you ever head down you should definitely hit it.

Thursday: 

I had to work half a day on Thursday, and the plan for the afternoon was to go boating! But all the boats were sold out. So we left to go tubing, I jumped in the back of a car and enjoyed a spirited convoy across the skyway. And the tubing place was closed. Schedules aren't a hard thing in the mountains, apparently. So we went to the gas station, grabbed some beers, and went back to Dirt beach.  Another rock skipping competition, some floating around the river, it was a great day, regardless of the plans. It was also nice to have an easy day, let the muscles recover, and just relax.  I did head up the skyway after dinner to watch the sunset though, which was beautiful. 

Linda's shot of the group

Friday:

Friday morning it was raining, so we went to a local meadery to check them out, feed weeds to their goats, and sample some meads. As we did so the roads politely dried up for us, so afterwards we headed up to the tail to hang out at the overlook with the crew. We posted up on the hill and chatted, watched the cars and bikes go by, etc etc. and then headed down the mountain toward the swimming hole. At the bottom I passed someone in an attempt to guide them into the pulloff to let the full parade they had accumulated pass their 10mph crawl... but they just got angry instead, so I got on the throttle and put some distance between us.  This lead me onto the portion of the road referred to as - I later learned - radar straights.  I think you see where this is going. I waved to the cop expecting a "come hither" but he ignored me, and I continued on my way. I passed the swimming hole using sign language to communicate the predicament to my friends, who encouraged me to continue on my way so that they didn't have to explain the contents of their cooler to Tennessee Highway Patrol.  Anyways, the officer pulled me over as I turned onto the parkway. He had me clocked at 62 in a 50, offered me a "place to stay for the night" which confused me momentarily, and I assured him I had accommodations. Then he lectured me for a while, and left to run the paperwork. I was wondering if I would get away with a warning, but he returned with a ticket for 90 in a 50, because "I know you've done more than 62 today". I was shocked and furious, but I bit my tongue, signed the "I do not agree but received this document" line, and proceeded on a very slow ride down the parkway.  [Post script: One of the motobros ((actually a motolady)) is a lawyer, who is friends with more lawyers, one of whom got the entire ticket thrown out pro-bono!]

Smiling would only have made him more angry...

When I returned to the swimming hole, they asked what happened. I told them "90 in a 50" and jumped off a bridge. (The swimming hole had a 15 foot bridge! High enough to be scary, high enough to leave a welt, but not high enough to be actually dangerous). I had a beer, told the story, and took a couple more jumps. It was scarier than I anticipated, and I'm glad I didn't think about it when I stepped to the edge the first time. But you know. Embrace discomfort. Push your boundaries. Live an interesting life. 

Photo by Linda. Thanks!

After we finished up, I headed up the mountain, pulled over to film the rest of the crew pass by, and cruised back to the house for food and drinks.

Saturday: 

I was in no mood to visit Tennessee today, especially on the day known for being crowded with tourists and police, so I took a cruise on the skyway instead in the morning. Really, the skyway is better suited for a sportbike than the Tail, and it was relaxing to have some spirited riding safely in North Carolina.

The afternoon's plan was dirtbikes. I spent a few hours helping the dirtbike guys switch out their street tires for knobby dirt tires, and then we headed out to the forest roads. I was honest with them: "I'm gonna try to follow, but I'll probably wise up and head back, so don't wait for me".   I could follow their dirt clouds for a while, but between the differences in tires and my newness at gravel I didn't have a chance. I had to learn as I went, getting used to the bike squirming around under me, trusting the bike to bounce over gullies and not jackknife into them. Once I accepted that I was going to throw the bike in the gravel at 25mph, and that that's ok, it was much easier. The dirt was fine, the hardpack fun, but the gravel made me work for it.  I missed whatever turnoff the boys had made, and rode ten long miles through to the other end.  I took a rest, shook out my arms, and decided, why not? And headed back, passing a "Road not suitable for passenger cars" warning sign. And thinking about it, I saw only trucks, a few adventure bikes, and some dirt bikes. Now that I was getting comfortable in the gravel, I realized how beautiful the woods were, as I paralleled a river through an old-growth forest. It was a blast. Stupid, but fun. And despite a few moments where I thought it was over, I never threw the bike in the gravel.

Back at the house I started loading the van and waited for the dirtbikes to return from their adventures. For dinner we packed up all our leftovers and headed back up the skyway to watch the sunset. It was a perfect conclusion to a great trip, perfectly discomfortable.

Oregon!

 After Battlebots, I flew up to Eugene while I was on the west coast. The plan was to visit an old friend from my Urban Exploring days, and basically just chill and recover from the stress that is two weeks of full-send comprising battlebots.  Don't get me wrong, I love BB, and seeing just how far you can push yourself and your team is illuminating and tons of fun. But the 16+ hour days leave you weary down to your bones, and (co)managing a team through the gauntlet left me a bit neurotic.

I flew into Eugene, a small airport in a small city, and after Mel picked me up from the airport we promptly left civilization. Small highways turned into empty backroads, which quickly became gravel roads when we hit the mountains. Definitely a change from LA.  Much of my time was spent reading, helping out around the house (splitting wood for the stove, gardening, playing with the dogs), and just generally relaxing,  so instead of a traditional day-by-day I'm going to cherry-pick a few random episodes for the blog.

I knew exactly why Mel pulled over after blowing past this random ditch.

Animals!

Coyotes, elk, banana slugs (gross and plentiful), hawks, deer, a lot of mountain lion poop, opossums, raccoons, rabbits, varying levels of suicidal grouse, chipmunks, and quail; and possibly a wolf.  We were looking across the valley at the cows and elk grazing in the field, and saw something weird and fast in with the cows. It was grey, thin, and about half the height of the cows. As we watched, the cows noticed it. And they were not happy. There was aggressive mooing and they slow plodded straight towards it until the grey blur headed into the woods on the far side of the valley.   I'm calling it my first wild wolf sighting and taking full points, feel free to disagree in the comments where I'll ignore you and continue congratulating myself.  Update: Mel informs me were 100 miles from a known wild pack, and juvenile males will travel up to 600 miles, so very possible.

Great picture of a hideous animal

Hideous picture of a great animal

Stars: 

There were so many stars. Compared to LA or even Baltimore you'd think we were on a different planet. Even the darkest days in my hometown couldn't hold a candle to Oregon. The only other time I'd seen so many stars was when protests in Peru closed the roads and stranded my bus in the mountains.  The milky way had branching arms, entire regions of space where stars ceased to be points and became regions.  We were blessed with no moon and a super-bright Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars as well.   One evening we drove to the ridge of the opposing mountain and shot some long-exposures... I need to practice my astrophotography, because while I captured a few good images, they still paled in comparison to the beauty the sky had in real life.   On the way back, a young 'yote jumped out of the bushes in front of the car.  And instead of darting back into the bushes, he panicked and started running down the road. We followed for quarter mile through a number of switchbacks before he finally realized he wasn't going to outrun us and veered into the brush.

On the flip side, this also meant it got seriously dark. Even after spending an hour watching stars, meteors, and satellites from a nearby cemetery and letting our eyes fully adjust, we still could barely make it home without lights. I found I could make out the lines on the pavement until I got back to the property, and then follow the light-colored cat as it wove around the plants and assorted obstacles up to the porch.

An incredible number of stars and galaxies. 

Beach:

It seemed a shame to spend a fortnight on the coast and only see the ocean out the window of an airplane, so on my last day we headed over to Coo's Bay to see the ocean. Our first stop was Coo's Head, where we spotted a tunnel in the cliffs. The high tide (18' above low) meant we couldn't follow the coastline, so we tried a few gravel roads and sketchy trails until we could walk it.  It was... weird. Definitely not natural, but we couldn't see any reason for anyone to excavate it.  Turns out, it was an ammunition bunker for a now-closed airforce outpost during WW2! Very neat. Also followed a vanishing trail to what I believe is a cliff-diving spot, but without depth-checking first there was no way I was going to try it. Even with depth-checking, I don't have 60' of bravery.

Our second stop was Coquille River lighthouse. We picked a random state park on our drive back, drove to the very end of it, and stumbled upon an adorable lighthouse! Unfortunately it was closed up for the season, but we wandered around it and then hiked down the jetty buffeted by wind and spray. Afterwards we wandered down the beach for a bit we headed back home.

Waterfalls:

There are waterfalls everywhere. Any one of these would be a state park in Maryland and draw people from all over, but here they were a widespot in the road and an unmarked trail through the blackberries. Still gorgeous though, even though it was dry season. Apparently in the rainy season we'd be drowned for standing where we stood.   And in addition to the waterfalls, there were mushrooms. Basically anytime we were in the woods (which was most the time), we were searching for mushrooms. I learned the common edible varieties and their poisonous lookalikes, and Mel had a sixth sense for them. At one point we were bombing down a dirt road when she slammed on the brakes. I thought she'd seen a bear, but she reversed 100yards back up the mountain, pulled over, and headed into the woods. There was a cluster of Forest Chicken that was promptly harvested.

General:

The main industry in Oregon is logging. There are forests everywhere in various states of logging, replanting, regrowth... it's a staggering amount of wood being moved. And often a clearcut would give you a look at the geology underneath the forest, or a great view out into the valley.  Also, on a more general note, everything ran on forest time... which is like island time, only more so. Nobody was ever in a rush, and it was understood everything would take a while. Really a great change of pace from LA.  So am I going to drop out of the rat race and peace out to the mountains? It's tempting, but not for me.

 

At least not yet.

Hunting Neowise

Trip 1: Drove north, hit like 5 church parking-lots, saw nothing.

Trip 2:

How I saw the comet: 

Drive to an empty parking lot out in the middle of nowhere. Wait for sunset. Begin scanning the north-west sky. Practice focusing your binoculars on things. Get bit by mosquitos. Set up the telescope, scan more things. Give up, wait for stars to come out, get bit more. Scan everything. Read 4 articles on "how to spot the comet". Scan more.  Finally clearly see the big dipper, get the telescope focused. Begin a grid-search of the sky beneath the big dipper. Kill the batteries in your telescope. Start manually pushing the scope around. Get bit on the %@&ing ear. Discover a very fuzzy star next to two  clear stars. And it's more fuzzy "upwards" than in the other directions! I win!

How to actually see the comet:

Go out at 10pm. Let your eyes adjust a few minutes. Find the big dipper. The big dipper should be about one dipper-length away from the horizon,  2/3rds of a dipper down you'll see a weird blur. You win!

Trip 3:

After sharing my first attempt on facebook, two of my BB friends took pity on me and gave me a crash-course on astrophotography and photostacking. The comet was far dimmer, but I stacked 20x2s exposures and the photo came out far better. Plus, pandemic. What else am I gonna do?